


The Black Well

by Anonymous



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Absolute Trashcan Material, Body Horror, Dragon Age Kink Meme, Eggs, Filth, Forced Orgasm, Gratuitous Smut, Horror, Id Fic, Implantation, Impregnation, Lactation, Memory Loss, Mental Coercion, Mind Control, Mind Rape, Other, Oviposition, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Tentacle Babies, Tentacle Feeding, Tentacle Monsters, Tentacle Rape, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 22:30:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5761321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lost in the Deep Roads, Lavellan stumbles upon a strange red eluvian. Afraid of dying alone and in the dark, she decides to take her chances and passes through.</p><p>Nothing could have prepared her for the nightmare beyond. But soon, she is beyond caring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Black Well

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt here: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/15866.html?thread=60893434#t60893434  
> Pretty much, I want unsuspecting F!Inquisitor to be raped by some sort of demon or creature that impregnates her with eggs. At first she is horrified but slowly starts to enjoy it and by the end cant think of anything but more. (PS, is that what a mind break is?)  
> Im really just looking for the whole impregnation sexy times bit, but if you want to continue on with her new pregnancy Im down!  
> +F!Lavellan or F!Treveylan (Lavellan is prefferred)  
> +++Bit of tentacle action? (Not necessary! But I'd like it)  
> ++++++Inqy at some point thinking something along the lines of how she needs to be a "good girl" and serve properly.

Lavellan knows she should have turned back a while ago, tried that other fork in the tunnel. Maybe it would have been better. Led her back to her friends.

There's a ton of collapsed ceiling between her and the rest of her party though, and she has to find a way around. She has to find a way out, any way, with or without them. The world needs her, needs the mark on her left hand. 

Her only light, besides the faint glow in her palm, is from the fire that flickers off of one of her enchanted daggers. Thank the Creators she didn't drop it in the collapse. What few monsters she's come across have been small and easily dealt with, but she doesn't know how long her luck is going to hold out. 

She walks for what seems like hours, her worry increasing exponentially as she becomes more exhausted. As she remembers more of the things she can't do without, down here deep in the earth—food, water, light and air. Riding under green boughs and open sky. She doesn't belong here, and she breaks into a cold sweat, fearing that like before, the ceiling above her could give away again.

It's probably useless, and definitely dangerous, but she starts calling out for her companions. 

Varric? 

Dorian? 

Cassandra?

There's nothing to respond but skittering small things, and the echoing return of her own voice. 

After taking what she thinks is a brief rest, and finishing off her meager rations, she begins to trudge forward, down the same tunnel.

Eventually, she does see something ahead. Sparking a small hope in her breast, a pale light stands off in the distance. A slim reddish glow, shaped like an archway, a door. She starts to run towards it, holding back panic.

It's brighter as she closes in, glowing innately. Standing before it, it almost looks like a mirror, one of ancient elven craftsmanship at that. Its edges are smooth and golden, like an eluvian, yet different. The carvings are unfamiliar. Strange and spidery runes trace the frame. 

Why would her people put something like this so deep down in the earth? How long ago could it have been? 

She knows instinctively that whatever is on the other side must be as deeply magical as this artifact. Perhaps an ancient storeroom, or a temple to a forgotten god. Perhaps a door leading up. Or, perhaps, it's something else, a prison, or a trap.

Afraid of dying in the dark, alone, Lavellan decides to take her chances.

The surface of the red mirror parts for her like a regular eluvian. She slips through the field, or glass, or whatever it is, it sliding around her like water. The hallway on the other side is warm and dim, like a fire pit lit by fading embers. She reaches back behind her to see if she can pass through again. 

A sigh of relief rushes out of her when it isn't solid; she can go back any time she wants. Good to know.

The walls around her are smooth, and carved to a high peak, but not shored with even blocks of masonry like many of the passages in the Deep Roads. Perhaps it was was some sort of service tunnel. 

She continues on, chasing a light she can see not far ahead.

The tunnel soon opens to a cavern, the walls and high arching ceiling shining with small glittering gems. They sparkle in red and black and orange, some even glow, and provide much of what little light there is. 

At the center of the room, is a structure of some sort, a round, black marble dais, the surface of it knee-high, and long as three men across. As she approaches, she can see the center of it is carved out. It appears to hold, what looks and smells like shimmering, black water.

“You've found my well, quick-child. Are you really quick? Quick enough? Ready to quicken?” says a rasping voice from behind her, neither male nor female, unearthly and full of some sort of sick delight. 

Though a desperate sound rips from her throat, Lavellan does not get the chance to run. Whatever it is, demon or monster, it is already upon her, pushing her forward into the dark well. 

The liquid doesn't splash around her, so much as surround her. It feels alive, pulsing, rushing into her nose, into her gaping, screaming mouth, down her throat, clutching at her arms, around and between her legs as she thrashes. Slithering underneath her armor, it parts the seams and cinches. She is quickly unburdened of anything that could protect her body, and dragged deeper. 

For a time, she floats dreamless, in some formless black void.

She wakes beside what she, at first, mistakes for a fire. There are no flames however, nothing nearby to burn, no wood, no bones, just an orange glow radiating from the smooth, opaque face of the massive gem. It is blessedly warm next to it, though, pleasant on her naked skin, and while the surface beneath her is solid rock, it is not rough, nor cold. 

She moans, wondering where she is, where her things are, and how she's going to get back out. The taste in her mouth is strange—sweet, but not unpleasantly so, and her limbs feel heavy, and lax. Poison, or some kind of drug is still in her system. She's fairly certain she will be unable to walk, but attempts to get to her knees, anyway, flexes her fingers so that she might be able to use the mark.

“How do you feel, sweet one?” says the rasping voice, again behind her. 

It startles her so much, that she flops weakly back down against the warm stone, like a boneless worm.

“I—I don't know. I can't move. What did you do to me?” She can hear it moving, though, curling over her, can feel its body heat, smell its sweetly-musky skin. She shudders, her heart hammering hard in her chest, skin prickling, waiting for it to touch her, but it does not. Not yet.

“Do not fear. Such a pleasant surprise you are. A sweet girl of the blood, of the People, marked by magic from before the Veil. I have waited so long for one like you. Be still. Be calm.” 

Its voice is very strange, the words that it speaks are fully in... Elven, but they echo inside of her mind and she can understand it, much more than she should. Words that she's never heard spoken. 

Lavellan tries to move her head, is able to turn just enough to see the form of her captor. 

The top half of it could easily have been mistaken for the form of an elf. Its narrow, sickly pale face, pointed ears and shock of long, thick, black hair, intricately braided, are offset by eerie depthless black eyes, and an extra set of bony arms, which protrude from its smooth torso. 

Below the abdomen, however, it is a slithering mass of silvery tendrils and tentacles, painted orange by the warm stone that lights the cave. 

Strangely, its writhing appendages are not what alarms her most, makes whatever is left in her stomach, roil and rise in her throat. 

Upon its brow and chin—dark, deep, and black—almost as if carved there, twines the familiar pattern of Ghilan'nain's vallaslin. The mirror to the tattoos upon Lavellan's own face. Seeing them there upon this creature, the marks of one of her gods, she doesn't know what to think. She tries to sit up again, but it is impossible.

“H-how? What are you? Wha-”

“Shhh... I am Forgotten. She left me to wait, until the others were dead, so I shall. You are marked as hers, as well. She must have sent you here. How kind she is to make you for me.” Its voice inside of her head is soothing, though nothing it says makes sense.

Another question wells up, but one of the creature's tentacles slides across her neck. The words die as she quivers, feeling another creeping up her back to wrap over her hip, and another, and another. Her left hand is pinned and useless. 

The silvery, slightly damp length caressing her neck, slides up her cheek and presses itself to her lips, seeking entrance. She tries to resist, bites it as hard as she can, but this only makes liquid—blood?—rush into her mouth. It tastes like some sweet, thick wine, filling her throat, until it is dribbling down her chin. Under her nose, it smells like spring blossoms and honey. 

Lavellan swallows, her eyelids quickly growing heavy. It would be good to sleep, wouldn't it? She doesn't need to be afraid. She is uncertain at first if this is her own thought, but does it matter?

The Forgotten creature chuckles softly at her ear. 

“Yes, perfect. You are doing so well already. Such a good girl. Suck upon me like that, I will sustain you. And soon, I will give you a gift.”

There is a part of her that knows she should be terrified, should try to move, to rip it apart with the mark, but the sweetness at her lips is too intoxicating.

It is generous with this sustenance. The liquid is dribbled down her throat, at even intervals, until her mouth opens instinctively for the muscled tendril when it teases her lips with drops of its strange nectar. 

Satisfied that she is calm, the creature strokes her limp limbs. It curls its many long, rolling tentacles around her breasts and hips, cradling her as if she is precious. Another of them massages between her legs, gently over her openings, until she gasps with unexpected pleasure. The soft motion goes on and on.

Soon, it will make her feel even better, it whispers, but for now she must rest.

When she awakens again, it is holding her in its arms, watching, as if it has been waiting for her eyes to open. Fear prickles at her spine, though she isn't quite sure what she's afraid of. It is taking such good care of her, after all. For how long she doesn't know. 

A week? A month?

She can't remember. Where is she? Who is she? How did she get here? 

Panicked, she twists in its arms, lets out a scream, before it clasps her more tightly. 

Its many limbs hold her like bands of steel, she can barely breathe.

“Shh... It is time. You are ripe to take me, sweet one. Your mortal womb is grown perfect, tastes so ripe and ready to be filled,” it says, smiling down at her with needle-like teeth. 

She screams again, but it ignores her, does not even try to gag her with the appendage it has made her drink from so many times before. Whatever it means to do to her, it requires her awake, and begins by laying her out on her back. It pins her arms above her head, and then its tentacles wrap tight around her legs and holds them open. 

She writhes and whimpers, weeping, as she feels something wet and slightly too cool press against her exposed cunt, parting the lips and dipping in like a slimy tongue. Shuddering, she feels it work up inside of her, slipping in and out a few times, preparing her.

It pulls the slimy tentacle away, to replace it with something warm, but harder, more insistent, gliding over the wetness there. It pushes in, slowly, and she whimpers, feeling her flesh strain to accommodate, certain whatever it is, it's too big, feels like it's going to split her in half.

“No, please, I can't—“

“Shh... you are perfect, you are ready. I must fill you, sweet one. You will enjoy it.” 

Its tentacles stroke her face, brush away tears, and the second set of hands run down her neck and shoulders, like they have many times before, down to her chest. Settling there, instead of sliding down further and clutching at her ass, its hands cup her breasts tenderly, at first, but then begin to tease and pinch the rosy tips. It teases them, until a jolt of pleasure rolls through her straining body. She feels her cunt try to clench, but it is painful, and she weeps again.

The creature offers her mercy, withdraws the hard, thick tentacle from her, and replaces it with the wet, tongue-like tentacle. It takes its time, tends to her soft, sensitive slit, licking from front to back, over her clit, again and again, dipping inside her cunt, her ass with other small tentacles, until her breath is coming in pants and she is near to wailing.

“A-ah—please,” she gasps, desperately, painfully aroused. She needs to come. It will let her come if she is good. She will be so good, she will...

It laughs, and kindly, it allows her release, stroking her to completion with one of its own hands.

“You look so lovely beneath me, sweet one,” it says, and licks her wetness from its fingers. “You are ready. I will fill you now.”

“Yes. You must,” she whispers, her mind drifting in a haze of contentment. There is nothing to fear. 

The hardened tentacle presses into her cunt again, but she is prepared enough this time, opens for it, aching for more. It only takes a few long, slow strokes, before the thick tentacle is seated well within her. Another orgasm makes her spasm around it, and another, its length pumping inside of her. It fills her so perfectly.

It works its way deeper, filling her, until she feels it press against her cervix. Dazed, at the unexpected sharp pain, she gasps and unintentionally bucks into it. For this, she is rewarded. 

Warm liquid spills into her, flowing like the nectar she's swallowed so many times before; it makes her muscles relax, fills her with euphoria as it drips down between her legs. 

She is ready. She will carry its gift.

Its smile is so beautiful, so enamored with her, she feels herself smile back. 

When the creature comes, there is another rush of thick liquid inside of her; with this it expels something small and smooth, like a soft egg. She feels it slide through the relaxed barrier leading to her womb with ease. The creature fills her slowly with more just like it, whispering how lovely she is, what a perfect beautiful vessel, whispers until her belly is swollen and tight. 

You can carry so many, it tells her; so perfect and good; you will be so round and ripe. Such a good girl.

Yes. 

It strokes her belly gently, and there is a rush of liquid from her cunt as it withdraws. Its gift is implanted safely within her, it is done. It releases her long enough for her to run her hands over her rounded abdomen. She wants it to fill her again. Make her swell more.

“No. Sleep now, sweet one. You have done so well.”

Disappointed, she obeys. 

She wakes, drowsy, curled in a nest of its many tentacles. It is inside of her. One of its tentacles slowly, gently pulses within her cunt, keeping her sated and blissful; another is in her mouth, that she remains nourished. It will always be inside of her now.

She sucks on other tentacles sometimes, when it offers, though what they expel is bitter to taste. It enjoys her mouth on them, she learns, and eventually she begins to like the bitter liquid, too, likes hearing the creature gasp with ecstasy. 

There is nothing that she wants more than to be filled by it, to please it. Have its body wrapped around her, keeping her and what she carries, safe. They belong to each other, now. 

Time loses all meaning for her; there is only the cave, and the well, her and it. 

She likes how full she is, how it caresses her with its soft, gentle hands and its many other clever, useful appendages. The lives stirring inside her belly slowly grow, writhe and move beneath her skin, as the creature feeds her, fills her with its essence, and she feeds her little gifts with her warmth, with her own body. 

The babes will not hurt her, it reassures. She must birth them, and then the cycle must start again. She will birth many thousands if she is good. 

“I am good. A good girl for you, my sweet one,” she says, fondly. 

Sometimes she notices there is a glowing green mark on her palm, but she isn't sure how it got there. She forgets about it again, soon enough. There are more important things to think about, like rocking into her next orgasm, and waiting to feed again.

It is careful with her, once her belly is greatly grown, distended and streaked with bright marks where the skin has stretched too fast. The babes will come soon, and it will take her to the well to birth them.

She knows the well is part of the creature. Binds it here and keeps it alive. It has told her this, and of many other things too strange to contemplate. Its stories of another world, of magic and war, mean nothing to her. This is the only world she has ever known, will ever know, all she needs...

She knows when the time is close, for her body changes in other ways. Most noticeably, her breasts swell, and begin to leak.

Pleased again that she is growing so well, it starts to drink of her as she drinks of it. For some reason this makes her laugh, for she enjoys it, likes the feel of its warm mouth sucking at her breasts. It likes to let her fill with milk, until they are taut, so she can be full in another way for it, then drinks her dry. Her orgasms are stronger, too, if it suckles her while she rides it. 

The babes come not long after they begin to play this game. 

It has been preparing her, demanding she tell it of any pain, but it is inside of her always, and feels the first contractions, just as she does. 

Quickly, it takes her to the well, where they wait, where it strokes her and soothes her through the worst of the painful spasms, until there is a rush of fluid between her legs, as some membrane within her breaks. 

The babes slide out of her one by one, long and white, their small tentacles grasping for her. There are many. In her pain and exhaustion, she loses count. 

It is a relief when the last of them slithers out, for they have covered her with their small, white writhing bodies. One suckles at each breast, the less fortunate others, fight for purchase upon her, tasting her skin, biting her, lapping at her blood. She weeps, for they, like their parent, too wish to have all of her.

The creature begins lifting the babes away, once each of them has tasted her. They writhe and whine as it drops them into the well. She is not sure what will happen, how all of them can survive alone, so tiny and fragile in the dark. 

“Only a few will mature. They will fight and eat one another as they grow, as they have already been doing in your womb,” it says, reading her mind, as it often does. It licks at the small wounds that pepper her skin. 

“And then?”

“They will try to fight me. If they can kill me, one of them will have you.”

“No. Just you,” she says, frightened. It has said nothing of this before.

It strokes her softened belly. “You do not decide, sweet one.”

“No. I do not decide. Will you fill me again?” she asks. She tries not to look at the well, while it holds her gently. She is still having contractions, her weakened body adjusting to being empty. 

“Yes. Very soon. Your season is quick, and you are a good girl.” It smiles down at her, and a tentacle slides between her legs. Pushing up into her sore cunt, it secretes something warm and thick and soothing. She feels much better already; lighter.

“Yes.”


End file.
